Under Control
by qualitymediocracy20
Summary: Imagine this: Katniss Everdeen-she's the Gamemaker. Crushing people's lives to make a name for herself. She never knew any better. She never knew it was wrong. She never knew that anything could change that.


I used to be so content with my life, with my job. Not exactly happy, but never having second thoughts. Never having doubts about what I was doing.

I would never have imagined that one look could change that.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I lived in the Capitol of Panem, and I was Gamemaker of the annual Hunger Games.

Now I know what you're thinking. Why would I want to create something so horrible? Something so awful? But at the time, I was pretty much on board. My family had had a long history with the Games, seeing as it was my great grandfather who made them. After the Capitol won the civil war, my great grandfather, who had been president of Panem at the time, decided to punish the remaining twelve districts (the thirteenth one having been obliterated to nothingness) by having them send a boy and a girl each to fight to the death. All of it would be on live television, of course-and believe me, no one wanted to miss the hottest event on TV.

So that was how it went for the past seventy-three years-twelve boys and twelve girls, each being put into an arena where they are expected to fight for their lives (and put on a show). And I was okay with it. I though, hey, they rebelled, they have to pay the price.

Until the seventy-fourth game came along.

Before the choosing ceremony, I had had it all figured out. The game was going to be set in a forest, and there were many tricks up my metaphorical sleeve, including some forest fires, tracker jackers, and some other mutations. I was pretty proud of the work that I had done the past couple years getting this one ready. I was positive that this year would be sure to make a splash.

I was right-but in the wrong way.

It all started the day before the Choosing Ceremony. There was a knock on my bedroom door. I checked the time, and saw that it was 6:00 A.M.

"What the hell!" I grumbled. I am _so_ not a morning person. Especially not a morning-has-not-started person. "Who is it?"

"It's Cinna."

Cinna. My most trusted advisor. Or technically just my personal assistant in whatever I needed. I sighed and told him to come in.

He burst into the room and turned on the lights, leaving me feeling like a vampire who has been exposed to the sun. "Rise and shine, Katniss."

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy?" I complained.

He paused, a mask of both surprise and disappointment on his face. "Don't tell me you forgot."

"I think we're past that."

"You have a meeting with President Mellark!"

Shoot! I bolted out of bed. "What time?"

"Nine o'clock ON THE DOT!"

"Cinna."  
"Yes?"

"We have three hours."

"And that is barely enough time to find a suitable outfit for you, much less do your hair and makeup. Now chop-chop! Get up!" Cinna said, a tornado of flying clothes and hairbrushes.

He was crazy, but he was also my pretty much my best friend. And pretty much my only friend. Being Gamemaker has you extremely busy, with all the planning, building, ordering people around, and going to meetings. Never as important as this one, though. I showered and ate a quick breakfast, my mind (and my stomach) complaining it was too early to do these things. By the time I was finished, Cinna had already picked out an outfit.

I got dressed and studied myself in the full-length mirror. A plain white crew-neck, a cable-knit kitten-grey (with flashes of teals and sea greens in it) sweater that went down to my knees, skinny dark blue jeans, and grey suede ankle boots with brown buttons. As much as I hate to admit it, Cinna has style. He managed to make me look both casual and nice at the same time..

"Sit, sit!" he said, rushed, gesturing to the chair he had set up. "We only have two and a half hours left!"

I rolled my eyes, amused. But he was right. The Capitol trends are extremely difficult to manage. From cat ears to pig tails to dragon scales, each of them more horrendous then the next. I always refused to let Cinna do too much to me (absolutely no tattoos or piercings), but I knew it would be pointless to object to glitter and makeup, no matter how much I disliked it.

Two hours later, he was done with hair and makeup. I grimaced as I looked at myself in the mirror. There were heavy swirls of gold glitter around my eyes, and purple gloss on my lips. My hair was tied up in a French braid all the way down my back, which wouldn't have been that bad, except for the gold and silver spikes sticking out, ready to pierce whoever got close enough-sort of like a security system for my hair.

"Let's go," Cinna said, rushing out the door already. "Don't want to be late!"

"You're going to give me a headache," I complain teasingly. However, I comply.

Down winding, twisted hallways, past locked doors, through dark tunnels. I've lived in the palace my entire life, but I will never be able to find my way around by myself. Finally, after much twisting, turning, backing, and many remarks from Cinna (such as "Hurry up Katniss!" and "You're going to be late!"), we finally came before a wide set of double doors. They were deep mahogany, with crystal patterned windows and gold handles. I knocked tentatively, trying (and failing) to conquer my jumpy nerves.

"Come in."

I pushed the heavy doors open, took a deep breath, and walked in.


End file.
